


Bedtime Story

by misha_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Castiel, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel can't sleep since he was cast out of heaven, so Dean tells him a bedtime story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Story

Castiel looks at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time in five minutes. The bold red numbers inch ever closer to two a.m., leaving him filled with an anxiety he can't name. He turns his back to the clock and stares at the concrete wall instead, but the red glow fills the room, an ever-present reminder of time ticking silently away. He never worried about time before his grace was lost, he never needed to. Now the weight of the seconds pile like sand on his chest, inescapable.

He turns restlessly back to look at the clock. Two minutes later than the last time he looked. Sam told him that his sleep would improve and nightmares would lessen with time, but they haven't yet. In fact, it seems worse every night. He lies in bed, exhausted, and stares at the clock then the wall then the ceiling in a well-choreographed insomniac dance. When sleep finally comes, he will see Metatron's smiling face and Naomi's dead body, he'll jerk awake in a cold sweat with the realization that the falling stars are his brothers and sisters, cast out of heaven by his own naiveté. Then he'll stare at the ceiling, too scared to go back to sleep, wait until he hears Sam or Dean rustling so he can get up.

No matter how many times they tell him that he should share what's bothering him, Castiel can't bring himself to burden them with these vague fears. Every time he almost convinces himself to talk to Dean, a mocking voice in the back of his head parrots, "Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas." Nobody cares that he's lost. Nobody cares that he's afraid. Nobody cares unless he can fix it. It's his mess, Castiel knows. Again. It's always his mess. He flops over dramatically and pulls the pillow over his head, knocking a pile of books off the nightstand in his huff.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters under his breath, forcing himself to be as still as he possibly can and hoping he hasn't woken anyone. Dean was right, it does feel good to insult the parentage of inanimate objects. A little smile touches Castiel's lips and he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. He wills sleep to come. The knock on his half-open door a moment later is so soft he barely hears it, registering it for half a second before discarding the sound as his imagination.

"Cas? You awake?" It's Dean's voice, gruff with sleep. A pang of guilt throbs in Castiel's stomach as he considers ignoring the question. He doesn't get the chance when Dean follows it up with, "I know you're awake."

At the sound of scraping on the concrete floor, Castiel moves the pillow and turns over to find Dean cleaning up the scattered books. He doesn't look angry, Castiel thinks, just tired. They're all tired. When the books are neatly stacked in front of him, Dean rises and replaces the pile on the nightstand. He scratches his bare chest and adjusts the waistband of his pajamas, his gaze fixed on Castiel in the harsh red glow of the clock.

"Can't sleep again, huh?"

Dean's voice is softer now and Castiel nods in answer, suddenly so overwhelmed with a bone-deep weariness not present a second earlier that he feels he couldn't speak if his life depended on it.

"Shove over. I'll unplug.."

Before Castiel can make it halfway across the bed, the room is plunged into blackness. The thump of a body part connecting with wood follows, and Dean's growl of "son of a bitch" immediately after. The bed shifts as Dean crawls in beside Castiel and with the warmth he brings, the darkness doesn't feel quite so oppressive. Cas is well on his way to the other side of the bed when he feels Dean's fingers curl loosely in his shirt, stopping him from going further.

Castiel waits for Dean to settle then for the curl of fingers around the back of his neck before he lets Dean pull him back. His pajamas tangle around his body with all the movement, but he barely notices the discomfort they cause when he finds his cheek pressed to Dean's chest, skin on skin. Castiel's arm falls naturally across the broad expanse of Dean's chest, his thigh over Dean's thigh as he feels a reassuring arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close. With gentle, practiced fingers Dean strokes Castiel's hair and neck.

"A little birdie told me you're having nightmares. You wanna talk about it?"

Castiel sighs and shakes his head, noting the quickening of Dean's heartbeat as his stubble drags. Of course Sam told his brother about the dreams. 

Dean's arm tightens against Castiel's body as he rests his chin on the top of Cas' head. He lets his hand stray to stroke the small of Castiel's back, seemingly aimless in his touch as his heartbeat slows once more. Castiel closes his eyes and focuses on the rise and fall of Dean's chest beneath his cheek, the warmth of Dean's skin, the comfortable way their bodies fit.

"Want me to tell you a story? I used to tell Sam stories when he was too scared to sleep."

Castiel is unsure of how to answer the unexpected question. It seems absurd for a grown man to tell another grown man a bedtime story, but at the same time he can't think of anything better. Dean's hand comes to rest with fingers curled over Castiel's hip, his body quiet while he waits for an answer. After giving it a long moment's thought, Castiel gives a little nod, murmurs a soft "mmhmm."

Dean takes a deep breath as Castiel curls his arm tighter, afraid of losing this moment of stolen peace before it even begins. Dean's voice is clear and relaxed as he begins the story of long ago and far, far away. Castiel clings to consciousness like a stubborn child, unwilling to miss a word of the tale about three boys - a prince and two knights - who have to fight an evil giant and a terrible dragon and try to keep angry townspeople at bay and restore the kingdom to its former glory.

As the story unfolds, Castiel realizes that he is the prince Dean is talking about. A prince whose heart is in the right place and whose intentions are always good, though his actions are sometimes less so. A prince who is loved by the young knights who share his castle even when he gets things wrong. A prince who in the end, Dean assures, will prevail over the evil troll on the mountain. Castiel's fears are replaced by relief at being cast as the not-evil-but-misguided prince and though he struggles mightily to stay awake to hear the whole story, he feels sleep creeping in around the edges of his mind.

He misses first a word and then a phrase and then full sentences, soothed by the sound of Dean's voice and the gentle stroke of fingers against his side. He has to tell Dean something now, before he goes to sleep and forgets, but everything is fuzzy and a little off kilter and so warm and safe that he can't think properly, making a slurred "I'm sorry" all he can manage.

The last thing Castiel feels before sleep takes him is the lingering press of Dean's lips to his forehead, absolving him at least for tonight of his multitude of sins. 

"It's okay, Cas, I've got you."


End file.
